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The 
Haunted Millionaire 

Of Montecito 



By 

Marion P. Earl 



^ 



THE UPUFT ASSOCIATION 

Station C 

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 



DEC 1 1 131? 



A^ 



>^^v 



THE HAUNTED MILLIONAIRE 



FOREWORD 

A Community Is Judged by 
Its Ideals and Spirit 

Baked beans made Boston famous. Now 
baked beans mean cunning- brain, skilled 
hand and much energy. The brown bean is 
mighty because it represents an ideal of ex- 
cellency and a spirit of achievement. Lon- 
don is a nasty place with its fog and slums 
that smell to heaven. But London is great 
because of its ideals and spirit which reach 
to Pekin and Timbukto. Santa Barbara has 
climate, scenery and reputation scarcely 
equaled world over. But the ideals and 
spirit of this city if nation wide, would send 
America to scrap-heap of nations. 

This famous city has no slum center, but 
she has her Montecito section fraught with 
worse perils and problems than the slums 
of London or New York. The dreams, no- 
tions, whims, vagaries and ignorance of the 



idle rich are not the stuff out of which a 
great city is made. 

Some wag! has suggested that the Ameri- 
can government send an ambassador to 
Santa Barbara. Its ideals and spirit are not 
of the flag, but belong to another world. 
In Am^erica we believe in the government 
of all the people, by all the people, for all 
the people. In Montecito the ideal is the 
government of all the people by the snob- 
ocrasy, for the snobocrasy. Now a snob is 
a person of common or inferior worth who 
assumes the airs of superiority on the basis 
that we are saved, not by grace, but by 
ancestry and gold dollars. George Wash- 
ington would have fought just as haTi to 
free the people from Montecito ideals as he 
did to escape the ideals of King George. It 
is not a question of brains, character and 
the spirit of honorable endeavor here in this 
live oak vale, but just the question of a 
mere money bag. 

The American Ideal Demands the Free 
Mingling of All Kinds and Classes 

In Montecito none but the rich are 



V. anted. The chained gate, the haughty 
look, the domineering manner all tell the 
story of excKisiveness. In America it takes 
all of us to miake a nation. As well build 
a v/all around the slums of Xew York, a coal 
camp, a farm section, a factor)^ comm.unity; 
and say that thi« '« all there is of America, 
as to put up a wall of exclusiveness about 
Txlontecito. Our future as a nation depends 
on keeping the bottle well shaken up. If 
any single ingredient rises to the top or 
settles to the bottom it is time to send for 
the undertaker. These retired money-m>ad 
men and apes of aristocracy take God's lit- 
tle valley, build palaces fit for kings, and 
drive others away. They do not believe in 
the Declaration of Independence and are ig- 
norant of what freedom means. 

The ideals and spirit of Montecito domi- 
nate Santa Barbara, which is the dog 
wagged by the tail out among the live oaks. 
It is a case of full represents: ion without 
taxation, for the city limits com.e before 
vou reach the valley. The ideas and whims 
and vagaries are counted more precious 



than tax money. The result is that the in- 
dustrial class is barred and any enterprise 
that represents honest toil in the aggregate 
is barred. The dear old adobe buildings 
permeated with vermin are preserved intact 
—just as one might keep the hat dear old 
uncle wore on his darr'n^ old head as a sou- 
venir of the dear old gentleman. So Santa 
Barbara sleeps and dreams of greatness in 
a world foreign to freedom and the cause 
of man. No community which \vould ex- 
clude anything that makes America great is 
worthy. We can only maintain our equi- 
librium by free mingling. 

If a man is a nabob he needs to be stirred 
into a batch of day laborers. If a miserable 
sinner he should mix with saints, if a saint 
with sinners, if wealthy with hobos. May- 
be the reason why the great American 
novel has not been written is because we 
have not yet produced the ideal American 
citizen, who must be the product of the 
right mixing of all the elements of our na- 
tional life. He can never be produced in 
a Montecito atmosphere. 



True Americans coalesce, pull together, 
love each other. But it is rumored that in 
this beautiful little valley there is rivalry, 
jealousy and strife not lacking in kinship 
to the badness of a back alley in the slum 
districts of big cities. 

To have an ambitiun to be rich enough to 
retire to the seclusion of Mentecito valley 
is to be in love with the scrap heap. No 
true American wants to hob a nob with roy- 
alty. He who boasts descent from the 
men who conquered England by brute force, 
and have ruled it likewise ever since, has 
less to brag of than has the ditch digger 
v/hose q-randfather helped throw King 
George back across the Atlantic. 

No true American hides away from his 
fellows, but rather mingles with them and 
helps solve the common problems. To re- 
tire behind a chained gate and look with 
scorn on the rest of humanity, is to betray 
the nation to its fate, and cry, "after ine the 
dehigc." 



He Who Does Not Labor is Only Fit 
For the Scrap Heap 

The true patriot works. To scorn labor 
is to hate the flag. The sane man works 
for the same reason that he eats, to pre- 
serve life. Let Montecito millionaires learn 
to black the boots of their servants and we 
may believe in them. It is as unmanly to 
loaf in a high power automobile as it is to 
loaf along the railway track with a red ban- 
dana and a tin can for supplies. The former 
loafer is a greater menace to the nation 
than the latter. The Montecito spirit de- 
rides labor, builds a servants' quarter out 
by the barn and with pious look says. "My 
Lord loveth an aristocratic loater." 
A Christian Mingles With the Low and 
Needy Instead nf Hiding From Them 

The spirit and ideals of Christianity cause 
men to rninglt vvith their fellows and give 
their lives for others. The weak, the poor, 
the ignorant, the oppressed are dear to the 
heart of the follower of Christ. It is ? law 
of spiritual life that the gift avails nothing 
without some of the sweat and blood of the 



giver. To save one's soul one must gc 
where there is need and must give of one's 
own heart to help another. No man can 
follow Christ into a palace and live with 
Him there any more than Tennyson's rich 
man could find happiness in the Palace of 
Art, — nor can any man find ii in Montecito- 
Can a Real Man Live in a Millionaires' 
Paradise and Not Be Haunted? 

It Vv'as the consciousness of the truth of 
these things that made The Haunted Mil- 
loinaire so miserable. The latent and un- 
destroyed manhood in him rebelled at the 
ideals and practices, the spirit and the fame 
of the society in w^hich he found himself. 
He tells the story of the awakening and 
how he came to know that he had entered 
into the lists against God in achieving his 
success : 

THE STORY 

In tne Twilight 

In the firelight since the twilight till the 

night is v;aning late 
I have cowered enthralled and helpless here 



beside the flickering grate. 
Long I watched the glory burning on the 

ocean's glassy breast, 
As the sun dropped down in triumph like a 

great bird to its nest. 
Long I watched the sunset splendor softly 

glow and flame and change 
Over gulch and crest and shoulder far 

along the rugged range, 
E'rc the bright stars kindled slowly into 

clearer, deeper blaze. 
And a mist crept from the ocean, dimmed 

them with its thickening haze, 
'Till beyond the shuttered casement I shut 

out the darkness chill, 
Brooding here alone — the tenant of the pal- 
are by the hill. 
I the hai'ghty master mastered by a sprU I 

v.annot break, 
In the room a mystic presence — am I sleep- 
ing or awake? 
The retired industrial captain I, the mighty 

millionaire, 
Must I tear the record open, lay life's 

buried secrets bare? 



The Awakening 

Y ester morn within the store room, where 

I searched for papers old, 
From the corner of a great chest came a 

gleam of ancient gold. 
Many a year untouched, forgotten it had 

lain amid the dust, 
With its hidden cruel secret that defied the 

moth and rust — 
Just a sm.all and simple locket hiding but a 

single curl 
And a dim and faded picture of sweet and 

winsome girl. 
Never since that fatal morning when the 

years of life were young, 
Have I quite shut out the whisper of a 

strange accusing tongue ; 
Never yet have I sought comfort in strong 

action or in rest. 
But tLe gnawings of discomfort stirred 

W'itliin niy haunted breast. 
Long the throes of outraged conscience I 

have checked v^ith iron will, 
Vainly I the haunting voices have com- 
manded to be still. 



From the tomb I sealed stout hearted, lo! 

the stone is rolled away, 
Thirty years of death and darkness, now 

the light of the clear day. 
In my hand I hold the locket, dim eyes 

looking into mine, 
As of old so pure and tender. Life was 

love, and love divine 
E're the money-madness seized me, seared 

the heart and fired the brain, 
And miy better self I offered on the altar 

fires of gain. 
The Story of 
Dishonor 
Thirty times the beach and maple on the 

old New England farm 
Have been touched with autumn color as 

with a magician's charm, 
Thirty times the winding river 'neath its 

icy floor has crept, 
And the merry skaters gaily 'twixt the 

woods and meadows swept. 
Hand in hand we often glided underneath 

the vv^inter moon, 
In our hearts the joy and music of the wak- 



ing dawns of June. 
Never yet a darker shadow settled down 

on human deed 
As I spoke the fatal message that from 

her's my life I freed, 
Told her I no longer loved her, cursed my 

spirit with the lie, 
Left her dazed, and crushed, and wounded, 

with no heart to make reply. 
'Twas the fault of Mamie's father, mine the 

honor, his the blame. 
By his lack he showed his station with the 

halt and blind and lame. 
Business is but business said I, he must 

win and hold who can, 
Great the game, who cannot play it lacks 

the measure of a man. 
In his trust he told the secret where far 

coal banks lay concealed, 
I with quicker wit and action gained the 

option on the field. 
It was then the tiger madness caught my 

heart and fired my brain, 
It was then I learned to measure all things 

by the yardstick gain. 



Called I love less good than riches, money- 
mad and worldly wise, 

Did the deed that seemed expedient in 
mine own deluded eyes. 

Money-mad I jilted Mamie, broke her heart 
and wrecked her life, 

Led another to the altar, made one all un- 
loved my wife. 

As a prince is sometimes wedded out of 
policy of court 

When the stroke of subtle statecraft saves 
the cost of fleet and fort, 

So I won the shallow daughter of a new- 
made millionaire. 

Put her gold into my coffers — saved the 
strife to put it there. 

I have never loved this woman, she has 
ruled my thought and will, 

But her tactful woman's prowess never 
kept my longing still. 

She the proud and haughty leader of a 
choice exclusive set, 

She the cold determined woman never 
made my heart forget. 

In my life a void of yearning, in my halls 



no infant mirth — 
Children crying in the silence to be loved 

and wooed to birth. 
She I won has counted childbirth ^t the 

lower surf and brute, 
Wasted all her mother passion on a poodh 

counted cute. 
Life is more than showy splendor, stateiy 

pride and senses cloyed, 
Just a vague and dying echo ringing down 

a dismal void — 
Without love the story dwindles and the in- 
terest swiftly wanes, 
Though he gain the whole world's treasure, 

without love he nothing gains. 
The Flight 
Yester morn I fled in terror from the m^em- 

ories that vv^ere stirred, 
Urged my chauffeur eastward, onward till 

the engines throbbed and purred, 
Fled the oaks of Montecito, o'er the steep 

Ortega grade. 
Past the groves of Carpint'ria, wound 

through Rincon's sylvan shade, 
Climbed the passes of Casitas to Ventura 



by the sea — 
From the hurt of wakened memories 

naught availed to set me free. 
^here I turned again and hastened to the 

crest of the West Pass, 
Paused to watch the wondrous picture 

round the sea of fire and glass ; 
Miles on miles of craggy summits where 

the lights and shadows rest 
To the distant gates of sunset far away 

adown the west ; 
Watched the long and foaming surf line 

twixt the waters and the sand 
Off toward Santa Barbara's headland wind 

beside the bluffs and sand; 
Dim beyond the smiling channel veiled in 

soft and mystic blue, 
Saw the island hills and mountains bar the 

limits of the view; 
Close at hand the slopes of Rincon v/ith the 

fields of barley green ; 
Down below the winding canyon lay its 

steeper walls between. 
I have wandered in famed places with ad- 
miring and surprise 



In the land ol song and story nnderncath 

Italian skies ; 
Never there my eye was captured and my 

feelings, deeply stirred, 
Never there my soul so startled, as v/ith 

some great earnest word. 
As 1 paused to viev\^ the pic^-ure where so 

often I have gazed. 
Was it a real flash from heaven into my 

wild breast that blazed? 
For there seemed to come a vvhisper in a 

breath of sea breeze sweet, 
"Where thou art the ground is holy, put 

thy shoes from off thy feet." 
Quickly then I fled the mountain with my 

soul afraid and awed — 
Was it but the living presence of the ever- 
lasting God? 
From the green slopes of Casiias. on down 

Rincon's live oak shade. 
Through the groves of Carpint'ria home I 

sped still more afraid ; 
Something moved in grove and orchard, 

over foothill, greening field, 
A new active force in nature "till that hour 



to me concealed. 
In the little vine hung chapel by the shore 

at Miramar, 
I have said old prayers with reverence to a 

king enthroned afar, 
I have bowed in stately temple where the 

ritual grand was heard, 
While the organ rolled in rapture and a 

deep emotion stirred. 
Ne'er in church nor grand cathedral where 

men in their reverence kneel, 
Have I found a God whose presence 

seemed to be at hand and real. 
I have talked of evolution, cycles of ma- 
terial sway 
Where the master will must triumph, 

cleave its destined right of way. 
Have I touched the hidden meaning of the 

earth, the sky and sea? 
Is God life of breeze and billow, blade and 

bud and shrub and tree? 
Is He God because He giveth of himself to 

m^ake the rose? 
Is man's life but the outgoing of a life that 

sv.ell and flows" 



Is life love, the free outpouring of the heart 

that throbbed and yearned 
*Till it made this world of beauty, smiling 

where the eye is turned? 
Is he only great and noble from whom some 

one new life drawe, 
Who is spent in saving others, swallowed 

up in some great cause? 
Is there no path to greatness but by toil 

and sacrifice? 
I who wrested gain from others, is my life 

the worst of lies? 
The Banquet 
Yester' night my halls were crowded 3.nh 

the festal board was spread, 
I was gay amid the gladness for the wine 

was flowing red. 
Wealth and beauty, pride and culture bri! 

liant light and service rare — 
'Twas a choice exclusive gathering called 

my luxury to share. 
I the far famed man of millions, I the 

would-be genial host 
Lifted up a costly chalice to speak out a 

witty toast. 



Was it then a frenzied fetiicy? Had I let my 

reason slip? 
Did the wine within the goblet turn to 

blood upon my lip? 
In my brain there ,-/"^ke the drooning of the 

iron wheels that spin 
Where enslaved the little children toil amid 

the dust and din, 
Driven by their cruel masters with their 

hearts transformed to stone, 
Grinding off the flesh God-image where the 

m.ill wheels race and moan. 
It was I who drove the drivers — for the 

m.eans must reach the ends, 
Who invests must reap the proHts, stock 

must bear it sdividends. 
They were hers not mine, those factories, 

miine to rule by wedding dower. 
So I've spoiled the human harvest by the 

Dlight of childhood's flower. 
In the smoke and dust of smelters — mine 

the furnace and the mill — 
Long I drove the slaves of labor v/ith a 

grim unyielding will, 
Gave each man a chosen number, names 



are naught to such a race — 
When one died amid the turmoil took the 

next to fill the place. 
Oft I've seen their stolid faces in the flame 

of furnace glare — 
When 1 raised the costly chalice, cold and 

still I saw them there. 
Long in dreams have come the voices of the 

children spoiled and slain,. 
And the flitting ghastly, faces of the men 

cut deep by pain. 
Still, 'twas ordered that men per-^sh in the 

harvest of great wealth, 
Who could win a place and fortune if he 

counted life and health? 
Rights of property are lawful—pillage, rob- 
bery and loot 
Was the primal law when mankind was 

emerging from the brute; 
Nothing else will serve the purpose in a 

v/orld of action real — 
He can never win vv^ho loiters in the realm 

of the ideal. 
Men of pride and hate and warfare, 

schemers sleek, astute and bold — 



These have been my masters, models, whose 

reward is povver and gold. 
Captains of industrial conquest rule by 

right divine, supreme, 
Men of need are but the chessmen in the 

nation-helping scheme — 
So has run m.y worldly logic like a chain 

across the years, 
Every link was forged with effort amid 

hidden doubts and fears. 
Iron mailed and eager hearted I invoked 

the law of might — 
Does that law ccnPiict forever with the 

eternal law of right? 
What is mine is mine, is written in the an- 
cient civil code, 
What is mine — is that the measure of the 

debt to others ov»-ed? 
The Palace of Unrest 
I have built this stately mansion 'mid the 

ancient live oak trees 
Here between the rugged mountains and 

the calm and sunlit seas, 
Walled it in with high seclusion, chained 

the gate lest men intrude, 



Lest they mar my peace and quiet with 

their manners dull and rude, 
Shut my heart to want and sorrow, bid 

farewell to pain and need. 
Like a prince enjoyed the harvest of my 

long and fruitful greed. 
On these walls the dreams of artists from 

the costly canvas start. 
On these shelves the masterpieces — science, 

literature and art; 
Here I've roamed the fields of action in the 

lands of history past. 
Talked with king and sage and dreamer 

with their stores of knov\^ledge vast; 
Harked the songs of m.ighty poets that like 

healing streams h ive fl own, 
Sought to sing their music with them, 

sought to make their joy mine ovvn ; 
Here I've hailed the lords of science, bid 

them share their stores of thought, 
Viewed with them the modern v/onders that 

their brains and hands have wrought; 
But like guests all uninvited these great 

hearts and minds among 
I have stood an awkward listener harking 



to an unknown tongue. 
Money-mad I jilted Mamie, money-mad 

I've gained my goal — 
Money-madness blights the vision, wastes 

the prowess of the soul. 
iNloney will not buy the treasure of a clean 

and contrite heart, 
Nor the love of truth, the insight that great 

genius doeth impart. 
I the clean bred Anglo-Saxon born vi noble 

dream.s and w^orth, 
Taught to spurn the sham and snobbery of 

the vulgar pride of birth. 
Mating here with blue blood gentry boast- 
ful of a lineage old 
From some drunken brute ancestor con- 
quering by sheer force bo!d. 
And with shallow-Yvilted copyists of old 

duke or prince or lord 
Who to hob-a-nob with rich men count it 

life's supreme reward. 
Tvloney will not buy the knowledge of stern 

righteousness and truth, 
Money will not buy the vision of a lost and 

wasted younth. 



I would give my wealth to feel it — Mamie^s 
arms around my neck, 

Run the ship upon the headland, haste in 
triumph from the wreck. 

There are stains on my escutcheon gener- 
ous deeds can not atone, 

Tho' no eye was ever troubled by the 
glimpse but m.ine alone. 

iThis a splendid haunted palace , mine the 
heart of dread and fear, 

Faces flitting on my vision, voices whisper- 
ing in mine ear. 

Oft I've fled in quest of comfort, but the 
spectral brood pursues 

Down the long and shaded pavements with 
their charm of changing viev/s ; 

From the slopes of the Casitas' I have raced 
in speeding car 

To the grades of Gaviota and San Marcus 
pass afar; 

Where the walnut groves are standing in 
their long^ and even rows 

And the lemon, orange, live meet tlie lillie 
and the rose ; 

^Vlicre the roaring waves are breaking 



on the smooth axid level sand, 
Where the foothill drives are winding and 

the views are counted grand. 
I have dined in Franklin's canyon with the 

live oak branches spread 
Interwoven gainst the sunlight of the soft 

blue sky o'erhead ; 
Harked Vvliere rippling Rincon's waters 

leap and laugh from pool to pool 
'I\lid the banks of fern and foliage kissed 

by soft sea breezes cool ; 
I have wo'md the v^^ondrous canyon with 

its sylvan shadows dark, 
Whiled away the hours of dreamland 'mid 

the gloves at vStanley Park; 
I have dined with money princes where the 

oaks at Shepard's Inn 
Banish all the toil and turmoil, of far cities 

v/ith their din. 
Everywhere the touch of grandeur and 

charm of beauty rare, 
Everywhere the balm and healing for life's 

trouble, pain and care — 
Rut my restless heart within me mocks the 

peace of scenes like these, 



From each studied n=ew diversion rises up 

in fear and flees. 
He is poor who gains the whole world 

while his noblest powers decline — 
I the discord to the music, love and hope 

no longer mine ; 
Lust of eye and pride of living, lust of flesh 

long satisfied, 
But the simple joy of being is forevermore 

denied. 
The Pictures on 
the Wall 
On the wall here hangs a picture, a choice 

painting counted rare — 
Hoffman's rich young ruler, lighted by the 

firelight's fitful glare. 
As the sun breaks into fullness through the 

morning mist and haze, 
Now at me the Christ seems looking with 

a sad, accusing gaze. " '' 
Was it but a pasing fartcy 'that upon my 

hearing fell : 
"Feed the poor and help the worker, all ye 

have forsake and sell?" 
I have held the rights of money greater 



than the rights of man, 

I have held Jehovah's favor rests upon the 
man who can, 

I have looked with scorn on Lazarus, safely- 
barred beyond my gate, 

Spurned him as inferior, useless, as I 
passed in power and state; 

Why should I waste time and trouble on 
an outcast such as he? 

Whence this still voice, "Thou need'st Laz- 
arus more than Lazarus needeth thee." 

I have cloyed my sense with plenty whilt 
the millions underfed 

Toil like slaves upon the treadmill for a bit 
of sodden bread. 

What is mine is mine forever, by the law 
of conquest old, 

What is man that I should mind him? 
Vv'hat is mine is mine to hold. 

\A'hat is mine is theirs who need it — by 
what law comes such a claim? 

What? the law of their devotion who have 
named Christ's saving name? 

Did the traveler of Samaria on the road to 
Jericho 

V\ hen he bound his wounds who suffered 



from the robber's well aimed blow 
Paid his keep and careful nursing — get 

more than he freely gave^ 
Are the savers helped by serving more than 

those they serve and save? 
Poor and useless, dull and brutish I have 

lived to self alone, 
I have cloyed the sense with plenty, fed my 

soul a crust and bone. 
What is charity to justice, giving alms does 

not avail, 
When the method of my getting meant that 

other men must fail. 
Is my palace then a prison for my best self 

bound in chains, 
In the hovel and the alley can I find the 

God Who reigns? 
Mine a vulgar show of money, manhood 

withering to decay. 
Is it vain then that I worship life my hands 

to praise and pray ; 
He gives vainly of his treasure who vvith- 

holds the heart's good v/ill? 
Never gave I gift to Lazarus but I spurned 

and loathed him still. 
"Wouldst thou" comes a solemn whisper, 
''gain the clearest view of Him, 



Go where burdened manhood labors 'mid 

the din and shadows dim; 

---'.^ffi 

There within the shifting turmoil of the 

factory, mill and mine, 
In the hearts of them the toilers is the 

image most divine. 
You will find my glory hidden in the brests 

of rhen you meet, 
Find my dread and awful presence 'mid the 

turmoil of the street; 
Vain the stately creed and ritual learned 

talk of saving plan, 
Man must save his soul by loving every 

low and loathsome man." 
The Scorn of the 
Padre 

Yonder on his brazen panier lifting conse- 
crated hands 
Noblest of the Mission fatliers, .Ssrra ,tlie; 

great padre stands, . ;*U V". 7 \ / 
He who laid aside all honor a lost people to 

redeem, 
Led the padres to that conquest, nameless 

graves by shore and stream; 
I the honored ,man of money, I, whqse rise.. 



cost others dear, 
In the withering scorn of Serra sit and 

cower and tremble here. 
Many times I've heard the old oells call 

caross the silent air, 
Bidding men to pause and worship, waft on 

high an honest prayer, 
While a shame has burned within me at the 

thought of their high zeal 
Who first raised these ancient turrets, bid 

the bells their message peal. 
He wdio gives himself takes station wit^ 
' ;: the noble and the brave, 
He who gets and holds sinks lower than the 

outcast and the slave. 
Betraying the Flag 
IT ere above the marble mantel hangs my 

grandsire's portrait old, 
iPirm of lip and strong of feature, once a 

warrior glad and bold. 
Who from Bunker Hill to Yorktown 

through the snows of V^alley Forge 
Bore the sword in many a battle gainst the 

minions of King George. 



Then they made a mighty nation, flung the 

stars and stripes on high, 
Set the flag, a blaze of beauty there forever 

gainst the sky. 
But tonight he eyes me grimly with a look 

that scorning hides, 
He and I were men of battle — he and I on 

different sides, 
His the sword unsheathed for freedom's 

last and noblest patriot dream — 
Mine the war to make the prowess of the 

clans of wealth supreme. 
"Let the people rule the nation," cry the 

I'eaders of reform, 
"Down with special rights," they argue 

while their blood is waxing w^arm. 
I the heir of Christian ages, armed with all 

the gains of time, 
•Have I preyed on human freedom with the 

wealth that is a crime? 
ils he wdio with studied caution seeks the 

just law to evade 
Greater foe to human freedom than who 

bears a rebel's blade? 
I have fought the rank insurgents with 



their policies and dreams, 
Plotters 'gainst the ruling order with their 

new and untried schemes. 
What the claims of common people gainst 

the claims of me and mine? 
Property and rank are sacred — I have ruled 

by right divine. 
Shall a child's cry still the drooning of the 

wheels of certain gain? 
Does a man's need hold unquestioned right 

of eminent domain? 
Is the civil code the echo of Jehovah's voice 

of awe? 
"^s he traitor then to freedom who ignores 

the moral law? 
Does he then betray his fellows who for- 
gets the Sinai code, 
Bind a nation to disaster somewhere down 

the distant road? 
When I mastered men and ^used them in 

my purpose strong and grim 
Did I strive in court and congress gainst 

the purposes of Him? 
Party rule and party leaders at His fiat all 

must hark, 



By the arras in the throne room hides He 
in the shadow dark. 

Spite of all the human logic, sophists skill 

> q, and custom long, 

Stands the nation's only safety in the right 
against the wrong? 

I am cowering in the firelight terrified, ap- 
palled and awed, 

Every avenue of refuge brings me face to 
face with God. 

It is he who casts the mighty from their 
seats of pride and trust, 

It is He who breaks the nations, flings 
their grandeur into dust. 

I have spared no man, but flung them from 
their stations in my path — 

I have now begun to wrestle with Jeho- 
vah's silent wrath. 

Are there flashes sent from heaven making 
all life's meaning plain? 

Is this all a feverish fancy of a wild dis- 

*^r:; <^^^^^c<i brain? 

In the East the dawn is kindling, in the 

;•, -^gra'Qithe fire burns low, 

I have written down the story, I am free to 
rise :ind go. 



OF COWGRESS 



ii 



f ■"««. ^^ ^ 




C1917 by L. W. Perry 



